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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244849">every inch of my love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham'>havisham</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>occult bullshit series [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1970s, Attempted Murder, Chekov's Mine Shaft, Cults, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:48:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventies everyman, Trevor Honeycutt, accidentally joins a cult and wins the love of the cult leader. It doesn't go well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charismatic Cult Leader/Male Follower Who Doesn't Believe in Cults</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>occult bullshit series [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>every inch of my love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enisy/gifts">Enisy</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Have you noticed that only the most narcissistic and self-absorbed people call themselves empaths?” asked a handsome man of about twenty-two, who had slid into the open space on Trevor’s left. He stuck out a hand for Trevor to shake, only to withdraw it a moment later when Trevor didn’t take it. “Name’s Roger Lansing. I’m an empath.” </p><p>The line around them heaved and muttered. It was disgustingly hot, as if the sun was at most six feet above their heads. Roger grinned, his green eyes stark against the tan of his skin, his blond hair turning dark with sweat. He had the face of a slightly sinister angel. A real heartbreaker if Trevor had ever seen one, and one who was clearly expecting his looks to do the heavy lifting in the conversation.</p><p>Unfortunately for him, Trevor wasn’t an impressionable college student in line at a Led Zeppelin concert. He was a local. He knew how these groups recruited. Trevor gestured towards a clump of girls ahead of them, who were openly listening to their conversation. “Well, they could probably use an empath. Hop to it.”</p><p>Roger’s gaze sharpened with interest. “But not you?”</p><p>“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” Trevor said. “Whether it’s love or drugs or yourself.”</p><p>Roger winced. “You’re a bit of a blunt instrument, aren’t you?” </p><p>“That’s a weird thing to say. Are you a cult leader or something?” </p><p>Roger scoffed. “I don’t run a cult. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be out here recruiting for it myself. What’s your name, chief?”</p><p>“Trevor Honeycutt,” Trevor replied. When Roger reached out to shake his hand, he hesitated for a moment before taking it. Predictably, there was an undercurrent of electricity that ran between them as soon as they touched.</p><p>Roger licked his full, bee-stung lips. “How sweet it is, Honeycutt.” </p><p>“If you’re trying to convince me you’re a normal person, it isn’t working,” Trevor told him when Roger finally let him go. </p><p>“I don’t need to,” Roger told him. He reached out and squeezed one of Trevor’s biceps. He smiled. “Look me up when you’re up north. Ask for Seven Mirages Ranch. We’re trying to build something new; we could use a strong boy like you.”</p><p> </p><p>Trevor considered decking him, but decided against it. He couldn’t get banned from another venue — it was starting to piss off Noah. So, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, he walked away. The sound of Roger’s laughter followed him. </p><p>*</p><p>“There’s some weird cult starting up,” said Noah Dresden, the editor of the <em>Sun-Courier</em>. Noah was a thin man with greying dark hair and permanent frown-lines that bracketed the corners of his mouth. He always seemed to be suffering from a tension headache, which made his moments of humor all the more surprising. </p><p>Trevor blinked. He had thought that Noah had brought him to the office to chew him out about missing his deadline the other day, but apparently Noah had bigger fish to fry. </p><p>Noah pointed to Trevor, who had just come back from lunch. “You’re going to check it out, Honey.” </p><p>“Why me?” Trevor groused. “I’m supposed to just write music reviews.” </p><p>“Your contract says <em>duties as assigned</em>,” Noah pointed out. “Look, I know you’re just using this job as a way to get into concerts, but take a look at this.” </p><p>Noah handed Trevor a file. </p><p>It was a collection of press clippings — including a profile from one of those fancy universities out East, about a student named Roger Lansing, describing his life philosophy. It was messy and borderline incoherent, combining as it did a sub-<em>National Geographic</em> understanding of Eastern religions with fantastical interpretations of Gnostic Christianity. </p><p>Trevor stopped reading a quarter of the way through and put the file into his jacket pocket. He sighed and pulled at his collar. It was hot and uncomfortable, but Noah always insisted he couldn't just show up at the office in his usual attire — typically ripped jeans and a t-shirt. So he kept a jacket with Jill, the receptionist, and used it as necessary. </p><p>Noah frowned and reached out to dust Trevor’s shoulder. “You need a new jacket.”</p><p>“Not on my salary,” Trevor said. “So can we stop this<em> His Boy Friday</em> crap? You think I can infiltrate a cult?” </p><p>“The fact that you just compared yourself to the great Rosalind Russell sickens me, but that’s about right,” said Noah with a sigh. He looked like he wanted a drink, but Trevor knew he was trying to quit — this month, anyway. </p><p>“It’s just some rich kid doing drugs in the mountains. Who cares?” </p><p>“What’s different is that he has Abigail Threpwood as one of his followers. Her billionaire parents are willing to pay any price to get her back.”</p><p>Trevor whistled, impressed. </p><p>The Threpwoods were one of the richest families in America, being blessed with massive amounts of inherited wealth, as well as holdings in industrial agriculture, coal mining and the US Congress. Abigail was their only child. </p><p>“How’d they manage to keep the news out of the press that their daughter joined a cult?”</p><p>“With difficulty,” Noah said drily. “Honey, I volunteered you for this assignment because Lansing seems to like rich girls and husky boys best, and you’re not rich or a girl.”</p><p>“You know that I don’t like it when you call me Honey,” said Trevor. Noah shrugged. They’d had this discussion before.  </p><p>“Why are the Threpwoods hiring a newspaper to get their girl out?”</p><p>“They didn’t hire us. We’re not involved at all. You’re going in for the story. I don’t care how you do it, you’ve got the next few weeks or so. See what you can find.” </p><p>Trevor groaned. He had the feeling of being stuck in a slow-moving disaster. He was so broke that he had no reason to refuse the assignment, but that wasn't all. If he said no, Noah would give the assignment to Scott or Deirdre. Hell, he might even send Alex if he thought he could get away with it — though it remained to be seen if she could pretend to be a rich girl properly or not.</p><p>So Trevor agreed to it and Noah chuckled, as if he'd known Trevor would. </p><p>*</p><p>Trevor hadn’t meant to get into the newspaper business at all. Or really, any other business. He’d been the only child of divorced parents — his father, Mark, had left the family when Trevor was five. His mother, Patty, had done her best for him, but Trevor was always glad that he’d grown into his size early. From the time he was thirteen or so, the other boys in the neighborhood knew better than to mess with him, and so did his stepfathers. </p><p>When he was eighteen, he moved out of his mother’s house and into an apartment with a couple of roommates. He took classes at the local college in between part-time jobs. It was at the school that he had met Alex Dresden, who mentioned that her father, Noah, was looking for someone to pick up the cultural beat.</p><p> The prospect of attending free concerts proved irresistible to Trevor. He applied and was accepted, though Noah paid him a pittance, since he had no qualifications to speak of and paid no union dues. </p><p>When Trevor came home from the office, he found all of his roommates gone for the week, and an old box of pizza in the fridge to eat. He warmed it up and thought about how some people had it so much better than him. He would bet that Roger Lansing never courted food poisoning like this. He probably ate a macrobiotic diet, whatever that meant. </p><p>As he ate, he got a call from Noah, who told him that there were rumors that the cult would be recruiting at an album release party downtown. </p><p>“And if they won’t accept me?” Trevor asked. </p><p>“I know you can do it, Honey,” Noah replied with a yawn. “Or else you’re out of a job.” </p><p>“Fucking unbelievable,” Trevor replied before he hung up. He trashed the rest of the pizza and watered his spider plant. Then he went to get ready for the party. </p><p>*</p><p>It  was so hot at the party that everyone seemed listless, sapped of any energy. Most of the party-goers were gathered around the kidney-shaped pool, but there was no one in it — yet. Trevor got himself a beer and retired to a discreet corner to watch for the arrival of Roger or any sign of Abigail Threpwood. Occasionally, someone that he knew would come by and they would chat, but Trevor always had half an eye out for any signs of Roger.</p><p>He got it a few minutes before midnight, when some new blood came into the party and changed the entire scene. Even the music seemed to pick up, with a throb of excitement that hadn’t been there before. A blond guy, named Miles or Mike something, caught Trevor staring at Roger and tsked under his breath. “You know the rumors, right?”</p><p>“What are they?” Trevor asked, still watching as Roger seemed to draw more and more people around him. He seemed different than he had been at the concert — more alive, more charismatic. He laughed at some joke some nerd said, too hard for it to be really funny. </p><p>“Drugs, sex, obscure occult rituals. The whole shebang,” said Miles. He was too intense to be taken seriously. Trevor eyed him with distrust. Miles seemed to understand that. He shrugged. “I wouldn’t get involved, if I were you. The thing about sex cults is that it’s only the leaders who end up fucking. Everyone else gets screwed.” </p><p>“Charming,” Trevor replied. </p><p>Miles shrugged. “I mean, if you’ve been in a weird sex cult once, you’ve been in them all, you know what I mean? It all blurs together after a while.” </p><p>Trevor stared at him. “What’s the point of being so blasé about stuff like this?”</p><p>Miles gave him a dull look. “When you’re as old as me, you get bored of it.” </p><p>“You’re twenty-five or something,” Trevor said dismissively, downing the shot someone gave him in one gulp. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>Miles shrugged again. “Sure, chief. Do you want me to introduce you to Roger?” </p><p>“Fuck no,” Trevor said, but it was too late. Roger had spotted them and wandered over to them. He was focused on Trevor and Trevor only. Miles stepped back with a cynical chuckle and murmured <em>good luck. </em></p><p>“Honeycutt, I didn’t think I would see you again,” said Roger brightly. He reached out and gripped Trevor’s hand and squeezed. He had a killer handshake, Trevor had to give him that. Roger obviously believed in the power of eye contact, because he didn’t break it when he asked what had brought Trevor here.  </p><p>“Um,” Trevor said, feeling his mouth dry out. “I wanted to know if your offer is still open.” </p><p>Roger nodded enthusiastically. “For you? Absolutely. I want to show you everything, Trevor. In fact —” He looked around and said, conspiratorially, “I can show you <em>now</em>, if you want.”</p><p>“What about everyone else?” Trevor asked skeptically. Roger gave him a broad smile. </p><p>“They can find their own way back,” Roger said. “Come with me.”</p><p>*</p><p>Roger’s car was a lot more humble than what Trevor was expecting — just a dusty red truck — but it wasn’t worth commenting on. Trevor took the shotgun seat and Roger took the wheel. For the first hour, they made small talk about the recent concerts in town and why all the sports teams in this part of the state seemed to suck, and the status of their deferments; Roger didn’t need to worry about it, apparently, and Trevor — well, Trevor didn’t check his mail that often. </p><p> In the second hour, Trevor started to question the wisdom of getting into a car with Roger.</p><p>“Where is this ranch?” Trevor asked. They had left the interstate and were now going on a two-lane country road, treading carefully up the mountains. They were definitely not heading for one of the millionaire ranches located in the hills of the city, as he’d expected. </p><p>“Fort Birdwell,” Roger said. “It’s close to the Oregon border. We’ll get there in an hour and a half.”</p><p>“What the fuck?” Trevor said. “Are you shitting me? You drove three and a half hours to go to a party?”</p><p>“The Fort’s only got two hundred permanent residents, Trevor. Most of them are over the age of sixty. They’re not the partying kind.” </p><p>“This is a textbook kidnapping,” Trevor pointed out.</p><p>“You wanted to come,” Roger replied. He seemed more relaxed now than Trevor had ever seen him — not that Trevor had seen many sides of him, besides that of a smarmy recruiter. “You can take a nap if you want to. Or you could ask questions, dealer’s choice.” </p><p>“I’m not sleepy. Why the hell do you have a ranch in Fort Birdwell, let’s start with that,” said Trevor. His fingers began to drum on the top of the dashboard.</p><p>Roger smiled. “I like the place. It’s full of streams and rolling hills. There’s mountains in the distance… My uncle tried his hand at ranching there, but he, uh, died and left the place to me. The neighbors pay me to let their cattle graze in the meadows, but otherwise it’s as isolated and peaceful as you could want. It’s perfect.”</p><p>“Does Abigail like it there?” </p><p>The look Roger gave him was amused but cold. “She loves it more than me, wants to start a dairy operation there or something. I’m not interested, but she can be persuasive. There’s money in organic farming, apparently.” </p><p>“Sounds boring.” </p><p>“That’s what I said,” Roger said with an unexpected passion. “Anyway, I can’t wait to introduce you to her.”</p><p>Despite his best efforts, Trevor did fall asleep after that. The next thing he knew, Roger was shaking him awake. It must’ve been long after midnight — in the East, the sky was already lightening. </p><p>“You’ll sleep in the big house for now,” Roger said. His voice was quiet, almost hypnotic. When he offered his shoulder to Trevor, he took it. </p><p>Trevor leaned against Roger as he led him inside. He’d never felt more tired in his life. Idly, he wondered if he had been drugged. But the last drink he remembered having was at the party, before Roger had even approached him…</p><p>There was a white bed in the middle of the room, and Trevor fell upon it with a sigh of relief. He hardly heard Roger say goodnight. </p><p>Trevor slept. Later, he would say that he’d never slept better than he did on his first night at Seven Mirages Ranch. </p><p>*</p><p>When Trevor woke up, a cat was looking at him from the foot of the bed. Her black and copper-speckled tail swished upwards, into the form of a question. <em>What are you doing here? </em>she was plainly asking, and damned if it wasn’t the hardest question to answer right now. Trevor dressed and decided to look for a bathroom to wash his face.</p><p>He was in a small but comfortable room with an old-fashioned wrought iron bed and a bedside table and lamp. These things and a small dresser were the only objects in the room. When Trevor tried the door, he found it locked from the outside. He rattled the door but it wouldn’t budge. </p><p>Next, Trevor went over to the windows. There were decorative bars on them that made even the thought of trying to wriggle through them painful. As Trevor assessed the nasty situation he was in, the door opened and a girl peeked in. </p><p>“Hey, sleepyhead, you almost missed breakfast,” she said with a smile. She was maybe about twenty-one, with straight dark hair parted down the middle. Her eyes could only be described as doe-like. She was wearing some kind of peasant-type white dress with red flowers stitched on the collar. </p><p>“Who are you?” Trevor asked warily.</p><p>“Abby,” said the girl happily. “Roger said not to bother you, but I thought you’d want to eat. The next meal time’s not until dusk. If you want, there’s a bathroom down here.”</p><p>“You guys eat two times a day?” Trevor asked as soon as he had washed his face and brushed his teeth. She had been waiting for him outside, hands behind her back. She was a pretty girl, Trevor thought. She wouldn’t have stood out leading an orientation group during his first day of college. Colleges were filled with girls like Abby. </p><p>Abby led him along a hall — the open doors he passed showed rooms much like his own — and down a rather grand staircase. </p><p>“Actually, it’s more like — lunch is a bit catch-as-catch-can around here,” said Abby. “People eat as they do their daily tasks. But Roger says shared meal times help with group cohesion.” </p><p>“I bet they do,” Trevor muttered, looking around. It was clear that this had once been a wealthy rancher’s house — there was still a large oil painting on the mantle that showed a florid-faced man in clothes from the last century, along with a woman in a white dress, who seemed to want to shrink from the ornate gilt frame. All around them was marble and dark wood; it took another glance to notice that the marble was cracked in places and the wood badly needed polishing. Somehow, Trevor doubted Roger’s story of inheriting the place from his uncle or cousin or whatever.</p><p>“Is there a telephone nearby? I need to call my boss,” Trevor said to Abby, who looked at him curiously. </p><p>“When you come to Seven Mirages, you give up access to modern technology,” Abby said, as if Trevor should know that. “There’s no TVs and no radios. There’s a landline in Roger’s room, but it’s for emergencies only.” </p><p>“Sorry, but this place sounds like a total drag,” Trevor muttered under his breath, but from the look Abby gave him, she had absolutely heard. </p><p>“We make our own fun here,” she said with a smile that was more pointed than warm. </p><p>They were approaching the kitchen. Trevor could hear the sound of voices and laughter coming from the door. He stopped short and looked at Abby. “Your family’s looking for you, Miss Threpwood. Are you sure you want to stay here?”</p><p>Abby’s face, once so open and friendly, seemed to close, shuttered and cold. “I’m not going anywhere. If my dad sent you, you can tell him that I don’t want his money.” </p><p>“Oh! There’s Abby,” said a loud male voice. A handsome young man, who later introduced himself as Mike, poked his head out of the door. “Ab, we found a new mine shaft today, wanna go see it?”</p><p>Abby glanced over at Trevor and said, “The whole area is full of old mine shafts. You have to be careful — if you fall in one, you’ll never be found.”</p><p>“But some of them still have old artifacts around them,” Mike said cheerfully. “Bottles, bullets, old equipment. You can sell ‘em to tourists for a pretty penny. Are you coming?”</p><p>“Well, I’d love to!” Abby said, practically skipping forward. She stopped for a moment and turned back to Trevor. “Do you want to come?”</p><p>“No, I need to go back to the city,” Trevor replied. Both Abby and Mike exchanged glances and shrugged. </p><p>The kitchen was mostly empty, although the soup in the pot looked good and the scent of fresh bread made Trevor’s mouth water. He quizzed the remaining people, who were trying to clean things up, about the ranch. He was aware that he was annoying them, but he needed to know.</p><p>Lyndie was an Australian who had moved to the United States to come here. This morning, she was in charge of the meal times. She and Carl showed Trevor the rota of household and farm chores that everyone was expected to participate in. It changed on a weekly basis. </p><p>“I don’t see Roger on here,” said Trevor as he examined the blackboard with ten names listed on it. </p><p>“Roger’s role doesn’t change,” said Carl placidly. </p><p>“Are you guys happy with all this?” Trevor demanded. They both looked at him like he was crazy. </p><p>“Why wouldn’t we be?” said Lyndie. “I’ve never had a better time.”</p><p>“You’re cleaning up after ten people twice a day,” Trevor pointed out. </p><p>“I used to be in general practice in New York,” Carl said, putting a load of dishes in sudsy water. “This is more rewarding.” </p><p>Lyndie nodded. “You haven’t had a chance to attend one of Roger’s sessions. You’ll see why we’re here then.” </p><p>“She’s right,” Carl agreed. “There’s one happening tonight. You’ll see then.” </p><p>Trevor shook his head. He wasn’t going to be around for tonight’s session. He needed to find that phone. </p><p>On his way to find Roger — or just his room — he ran into more people. They all had the same opinion as Abby, Lyndie and Carl. They also didn’t seem to know where Roger was — and everyone advised Trevor that no one was allowed to go into Roger’s room without his permission. </p><p>“I’m not staying, I just need to call my boss,” Trevor argued as he finally reached the top of the house, where Roger’s room was. The door swung open and Roger stepped out. He was wearing a robe and nothing else. </p><p>“Honeycutt!” he exclaimed. “Come inside, I’ve been waiting for you.”</p><p>Trevor mounted the rest of the stairs, feeling vaguely like he was walking into a lion’s den. Roger closed the door behind him and smirked. “I’ve got you at last.” </p><p>“Real seductive,” Trevor said disinterestedly. “I need to use your phone.” </p><p>“Go ahead,” Roger said with a yawn. He disappeared into the bathroom and Trevor heard the sound of water running. Trevor stared at the phone but couldn’t think of what to do. He didn’t have anything to report to Noah besides his arrival. </p><p>He took too long to consider. Roger was back and eying him speculatively. </p><p>“It’s not an emergency, then?” Roger asked. Trevor pushed the telephone away and shrugged. </p><p>“I guess not,” Trevor muttered. He felt anxious and stung, unsure of what to do. When Roger opened the drawer of his bedside table and offered him a pill, Trevor took it without questioning. </p><p>Almost instantly, a good feeling settled upon him. He felt satisfied for the first time in a long time and Roger looked — he was beautiful, almost distractingly so. When he pulled off his robe and stood before Trevor, naked, Trevor wanted him. He had never wanted anyone more than he did now. </p><p>“You still want to go?” Roger asked. He reached out and touched Trevor’s face, which felt hot. </p><p>“No,” Trevor said. “Show me something good.” </p><p>Roger smirked at him and he smirked back. Roger pushed Trevor onto the bed and restrained his arms over his head.  <em>I’m stronger than him</em>, Trevor thought.<em> I could bounce him off the walls if I wanted to</em>. Instead, he let Roger kiss him. </p><p>“I wanted to show you the property, but this works better,” Roger whispered. He kissed Trevor’s throat. He was good at this, good at wrapping himself around Trevor, making him — making this seem so important. </p><p>When he asked Trevor to stay for the rest of the day, to attend the session after dinner, Trevor fought with his own instincts — that told him to run — and his lust and curiosity. When Roger’s attention wandered lower, when his hands and his mouth touched Trevor’s hard cock, Trevor would’ve agreed to anything. </p><p>“I’ll stay for tonight,” Trevor said, gasping. He could feel Roger’s smile more than he could see it. </p><p>“You won’t regret it,” Roger promised. “Sweetheart, you were meant to be here.” </p><p>Trevor should hate being talked to like that. But he didn’t. </p><p>*</p><p>Trevor had always considered the possibility that he was queer. According to one of his stepfathers — Todd, a brawler who luckily hadn’t lasted long — the whole thing was predetermined from the beginning. But Todd believed everything he didn’t like was queer, and since he’d never liked Trevor... </p><p>Even Trevor’s name was a little suspect — well, his mom had said he was named after one of his father’s best friends, but his father hadn’t been there to confirm. Growing up when he did and among the people he knew, Trevor knew that if he was queer, it was something that only a few people could ever know. People he trusted, people he loved, people who could handle knowing the truth. </p><p>And the truth of it was that Trevor didn’t really have many people like that in his life. His mother was sweet, but she didn’t know about anything like that. She lived quietly in the south of the state, on an orange farm with her last husband. Their only contact was during the holidays. Trevor’s boyfriends, such as they were, had been mostly fly-by-night kind of operations. His girlfriends had been a more lasting presence, but they all complained that Trevor just wasn’t there for them. </p><p>“I mean, I’m glad I never got any of them pregnant. I think I would make a shitty father,” Trevor found himself telling Roger afterwards, as the sweat cooled from their bodies. It felt insane. He wasn’t supposed to be telling Roger any of this, but there was something compelling about Roger now, in a way that Trevor couldn’t exactly put his finger on. That something made Trevor want to talk — talk about things he hadn’t ever had a chance to tell anyone. </p><p>“Do you think you’ll run out on them like your dad?” Roger asked. He reached out and took a pack of cigarettes from the drawer of the bedside table, and offered one to Trevor. </p><p>“Yeah, obviously,” Trevor said, waving off the cigarette. “I might be a piece of shit, but I don’t want to weigh down another person like that. Either the mom or the kid.” </p><p>“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit,” said Roger, blowing a delicate wreath of smoke into the air. It curled around him momentarily before dissipating. “Actual pieces of shit wouldn’t ever consider it from that angle.” </p><p>He looked down and met Trevor’s eyes. “I think you’re waiting for something to give meaning to your life. Something you can devote yourself to. And if that’s not a family, it could be something else.” </p><p>“Is that your famous empathy speaking?” Trevor asked, raising his eyebrows at him. </p><p>Roger laughed and put out his cigarette. He wrapped his hands around Trevor’s throat and squeezed lightly. Trevor felt himself harden against Roger’s thigh. The feeling should have dissipated but it didn’t. He still felt excited, alive with possibilities.</p><p>“I think I’m whatever the opposite of an empath is,” Trevor confessed. “I don’t feel easily. It’s like there’s a pane of glass between me and other people, usually.” </p><p>Roger considered that for a moment before he shook his head and said briskly, “I think you’re exactly what you need to be. Don’t question it. You’re all right. We’ll talk about it in the session.”</p><p>“People keep talking about the session. What the hell is it?” </p><p>“You’ll see for yourself,” Roger assured him. “Soon enough.”</p><p>*</p><p>The session turned out to be something of an audit for the soul. Everyone present — including several people that Trevor hadn’t seen before — gathered in what used to be the study of the main house. They drank from the witch’s brew that only Roger seemed to know the contents of — he said it would expand their minds. He laughed at that, but it didn’t seem fatal. People seemed to like it, anyway. </p><p>Trevor took an experimental sip and put it aside. He needed to observe. He needed to pay attention. </p><p>Everyone was seated in a circle, hands loosely linked together. The fireplace was lit. It was the only light in the room, which gave everything a mysterious feel.</p><p>Roger stood up and greeted everyone. “We have a new person amongst our ranks today. Trevor Honeycutt has been challenging me from the first time we met, and I knew from that moment that I had met him before.” </p><p>He took a deep breath. “It’s the same with all of you. You’re familiar with my philosophy, of how certain people are attached to each other, life after life. I’ve gathered you all here because I felt a resonance with all of you. You were important to me before and you’re important to me again. There’s no doubt in my mind that we’re destined to do something great together — I believe we already have.” </p><p>Everyone clapped for Roger, except for Trevor, who was still with shock. He’d read Roger’s essay, the one that had laid out his philosophy. But that was different from declaring that he believed reincarnation was real and that everyone present had been reincarnated with him. It was — nuts. </p><p>“Trevor?” Roger was looking at him. “Come inside the circle. We’re going to show you your last life. Release it as repressed memories. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt.” </p><p>“Nope. My memories are repressed for a reason—” Trevor said, standing up, turning to go out. But hands from both sides of him were pushing him towards Roger.</p><p>“Come on,” said Roger, reaching out towards him. “Don’t you want to be free? We support you here, Trevor.” </p><p>They were all on him then. Their adoration of Roger and determination to do what he wanted was absolute. Even Trevor felt the power of it and stopped struggling. Eventually, he was sitting inside the circle, with Roger’s arms around his neck. Roger put a hand on Trevor’s temple and spoke softly, soothingly. </p><p>Something was pulling Trevor’s consciousness down, down to somewhere dark and terrible. Roger was telling him to go through the door that would appear in his mind, go through and see what was on the other side. </p><p>Something in Trevor’s mind longed to resist, tried to blame something for his sudden weakness and inaction. But even as he struggled, he found himself opening the door. Soon, he was hit by memory after memory, of a life that he knew wasn’t his. He was surrounded by strangers he knew to be his family. He swung an axe deep into the heart of a tree. He was running through a deep and dark forest. He’d dropped his weapon somewhere and his fear was palpable. </p><p>Suddenly, a shot rang out and Trevor dropped to the ground. He was bleeding out, he was dying, he was dying —</p><p>Trevor came back to the present with a jerk. He was held fast by Roger, who was still murmuring soothing things to him. But Trevor didn’t hear him, because he was weeping. Some deep well of sadness had cracked open inside him and all the bad feelings had come rushing out. </p><p>“You did it,” Roger kept telling him. “You broke through. Don’t you feel free, sweetheart? That life wasn’t the end. This one isn’t either.” </p><p>But it didn’t feel like freedom. Trevor had no idea how to feel. </p><p>*</p><p>Trevor spent the next day at the ranch. And then the next. The following week, he hitched a ride back to the city to grab his stuff from his apartment and drop his letter of resignation at the <em>Sun-Courier </em>office. He’d hoped to avoid Noah if he could, but Trevor’s luck had never been great. Just as he was leaving, he heard his name being shouted from the window upstairs.</p><p>Trevor looked up to see Noah glaring down at him. “I don’t accept your resignation, Honeycutt,” said Noah, leaning against the windowsill. “Not until you come upstairs and explain yourself.”</p><p>“You’re going to stop paying me, though. Aren’t you?” Trevor shot back. </p><p>“Yeah, obviously,” Noah replied. He looked sad for a moment. “I didn’t think you’d be that weak-minded, Honey.”</p><p>“It’s not like that,” Trevor replied. “Come up sometimes and I’ll show you around.”</p><p>“No fucking thank you,” Noah replied and closed the window and blinds. </p><p>Roger was waiting in the car when Trevor came back. He laughed when he heard what had happened. “Old people don’t understand what the fuck we’re trying to do. Don’t mind it. Forgive and forget.”</p><p>“He gave me a chance to do what I loved,” Trevor began to say. But Roger shook his head. </p><p>“And that was fine then, but you’re changing now. We’re the ones to help you.” </p><p>Trevor expected Roger to go out and find new people to bring back to the cult, but Roger said he didn’t want to add anyone else. The people they had now were perfect, he said. Not one weak link among them. No one who had to be broken. </p><p>There was always such a strange contrast between the Roger who said things like that, and the one in the sessions, who brought them to the edge of some bigger understanding about the world and themselves. Now where was that empathy he always talked about? Trevor thought uncomfortably that Roger just used his understanding of how people worked to better manipulate them. </p><p>But instead of dwelling on this, he focused on the sensory details of the day — of driving up and down the mountains, stopping for lunch and splitting a Coke and a pack of cigarettes with Roger. How blue the sky was, not a single stray cloud in it. Driving past the reservation on their way to the ranch... </p><p>“That’s why this was such a perfect place,” Roger remarked as they drove past the sign. “No one looks here. You could do anything and it would never be found.” </p><p>“What are you planning to do?” Trevor asked. “Throw dissenters down a mine shaft?” </p><p>Roger winked. “That would be telling, Honeycutt.” </p><p>The ranch was still miles down the gravel road that split from the main road. To their left was the blasted black rock that jutted out of the hills; beyond that were the undulating hills themselves. The gravel crunched under the tires, a steady sound that ended with a squeak as they reached the house, which lay nestled in a valley of its own. </p><p>Someone — Mike — popped out of the house. He was naked, and he was followed by Lyndie and Carl, both of whom were equally naked. They waved to Roger and Trevor. “We’re going skinny dipping in the stream. Are you coming?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Roger said. He glanced over at Trevor. “You’re coming too.” </p><p>Trevor licked his lips. “I’m not taking off my clothes.”</p><p>“Going to make us work for it?” Roger hopped out of the car and leaned against the door for a moment. His eyes were bright green and amused.  “You tease.” </p><p>Trevor followed the group of them to the stream, seeing people he hadn’t really met before — there was Natalie and Shakib, who had been up in Portland for work when he first joined, and Lori, who had had to see her kids. Now, they were all milling around the stream and the small pond at the end of the property, where the green-slicked rocks shaded the water from the sun. It had been a hot day, and so the first shock of water against skin was absolute bliss, as was washing off the dust from his face.</p><p> But as soon as he surfaced, he was aware of how alone he was in the crowd. Everyone had clumped together in groups of two or three, including Roger and Abby, who were in each other’s arms, looking like they were trying out to be Adam and Eve for the Age of Aquarius.</p><p> Trevor could feel his lips curl in disgust at seeing Roger’s long fingers twist one of Abby’s dusky pink nipples, but then he felt someone tug at his arm. It was Carl and Lyndie. There was a flush under Carl’s dark skin, and Lyndie’s red hair was tangled. They didn’t have to say anything — Trevor understood their invitation and took it. </p><p>When he glanced back to where Roger and Abby still were, he thought he saw a flash of jealousy on Roger’s face, but it was gone as soon as it was there. </p><p>*</p><p>Trevor bartered with a neighbor for an old beater of a car, in exchange for some farm work. He thought the old fogey really just wanted to gossip, and thought Trevor was as close as he was going to get to a regular guy over there — not a woman, not brown or black. Someone <em>normal</em>, the man didn’t say, but heavily implied. </p><p>Trevor smiled and said nothing. He listened, though. He learned that there had been other people who had come to take Abby back to her parents — black-suited agents in unmarked cars — but they’d gone back empty-handed. </p><p>“You know how the property ended up with Roger Lansing in the first place?” Trevor asked idly. A storm was coming in, thunderheads rolling down the mountains and into the valley. </p><p>“No idea, old Westin didn’t have no family,” said the old man and spat out a wad of tobacco. It splattered wet and rusty against the packed dirt of the ground. </p><p>When Trevor drove back to the ranch with the truck, people wandered out to see it and teased him about how ugly it was. </p><p>“It runs, that’s all that matters,” Trevor replied back. 
</p><p>“Why do you want this thing? You planning to leave us?” Abby asked him, making her eyes large and sad. Everyone else laughed, but Trevor shook his head. </p><p>“Not at all. Roger would hate it, wouldn’t he?” </p><p>“Oh, yes,” Abby replied. “You’re quite the favorite. But you know, Roger’s never learned to handle disappointments. Maybe it’s time he learned.”</p><p>“Are you the one to teach him, Abby?” asked somebody, and Abby dimpled prettily, but Trevor noticed that she didn’t deny it. Instead, she focused back on Trevor. 
</p><p>“I think it’s great to be independent,” she said earnestly. “Maybe you can give me a ride down to San Francisco sometime.” </p><p>“Sure,” Trevor said. “Shopping trips, a getaway driver, I can be anything you want.” </p><p>“And I thought you didn’t like me!” She laughed. Then, more seriously, she said, “Don’t promise anything you can’t deliver, baby.” </p><p>“I don’t intend to,” he replied, feeling awkward. There was an intensity in Abby’s gaze that even Roger lacked. Roger was mercurial. Abby was steady. She didn’t change her mind, not ever. And she held people to their promises, Trevor knew it. He looked away, abashed. </p><p>*</p><p>“Are you trying to leave?” Roger whispered into Trevor’s ear as soon as the session was over. Someone pulled a shaking Mike away from the circle, still crying over his dead mother or something. </p><p>Trevor eyed Roger cautiously. Roger was always more unpredictable after the sessions, even as he seemed to be at his most powerful. It felt dangerous to have all that attention directed at him. </p><p>And yet, at the same time, it felt marvelous. </p><p>“Are you going to stop me?” Trevor asked, as Roger lurched toward him and pressed his face briefly against Trevor’s for a moment, before he pulled himself together. </p><p>“Let’s walk,” Roger said. “We have a lot to talk about.”</p><p>Trevor could feel everyone staring at them as they headed out, Roger gripping his arm hard enough to hurt. </p><p>Trevor didn’t know where they were going — he assumed it would be Roger’s room, but instead Roger led him to the old stables. The place didn’t have electricity; Roger lit an oil lamp, which filled the room with flickering, uncertain light. “Trevor,” he said with a regretful sigh. “You haven’t been honest with me.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” </p><p>Roger gave him a pitying look and pulled out a thick envelope of papers from his back pocket, and threw it on the ground. It was addressed to Noah Dresden of the <em>Sun-Courier. </em>The handwriting on it was Trevor’s own.</p><p>“Interfering with the mail’s a felony, you know,” Trevor said. His voice shook. He’d thought the packet of letters and observations he'd mailed out the day before had been safe. He’d gone over to the county seat just to mail it, but there it was. </p><p>“You shouldn’t be thinking about that,” Roger said sharply. “You should be thinking about the price of betrayal. We’re not just your friends out here, we’re your family. How could you write all these things about us? That I stole this property? That Abby’s held here against her will? That we’re drugged-up wannabe hippies and perverts?”</p><p>“I didn’t say any of that,” Trevor protested. </p><p>“You know that’s how Dresden’s going to spin it,” Roger said, his eyes cold. “You can’t be so naive as to not realize.” </p><p>Trevor bit his lip so hard that he could taste the blood. “What are you going to do?”</p><p>“I want to make you understand,” Roger said. “I’m trying to build a new family here. Everyone here is here because they’re important to me. We’re building a new world here, where people are allowed to be what they need to be. I know what you need, Trevor. I see you, Trevor. I always see you.” </p><p>Trevor looked away. He felt the terrible vulnerability of Roger’s words, but he couldn’t accept it. “You have a lot of people here who would do whatever you want. Why do you want me?” </p><p>“Because you’re important,” Roger replied. He took a step back. “But you’ve done wrong here, and if I let you go without punishment, no one else would listen to me. You understand that, don’t you?” </p><p>Trevor just looked at him. </p><p>“Got nothing to say?” Roger shook his head. “The old man who owned this place used to have a big bull-whip he’d keep around here. He used it to put the fear of God into people. Or make them talk.” </p><p>“I don’t believe you would do that,” said Trevor, blunt as always. </p><p>“You really love to push,” Roger said with a wry smile. “I really do need to teach you a lesson.” He picked up a length of rope that had been sitting on a barrel. He tested its strength and nodded.</p><p>Trevor’s back slammed against a post. Roger was tying him to it, using the rope to fasten him tightly. Trevor struggled, his anger getting the better of his guilt. </p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed to Roger, who looked at him with wide eyes.</p><p>“I’m teaching you to believe,” Roger said, tightening the rope further. He kissed Trevor roughly, biting his lower lip. He caressed Trevor’s cheek for a moment before he scratched it. “I’m going to teach you how to appreciate what you have, Honey. Show you how to be a <em>good</em> boy.” </p><p>“Stop this,” Trevor gasped, but Roger was clearly not interested in listening to him. Instead, he unzipped Trevor’s jeans and drew out his cock. Trevor felt his face burn with embarrassment. He was hard. </p><p>Roger chuckled. “Do you know how long I've wanted to do this? That first time we met and you tried to humiliate me. I wanted to see you stripped of all that bravado.”</p><p>He forced Trevor to look into his eyes, holding his chin and forehead straight. Roger looked like he was electrified. His eyes glowed. He was ecstatic as he whispered, “I knew you’d look so beautiful like this.”</p><p>Trevor didn’t know how Roger had been able to tie him so securely and so fast, but he had and now he was taking him apart with finesse and care. It hurt as much as it felt good, and Trevor wanted it as much as he didn’t. Roger’s hand was cold against his cock and his mouth was hot against Trevor’s skin. Roger picked up the pace, bringing Trevor to the point of coming. Their eyes met. </p><p>“Don’t stop. Please,” Trevor muttered. It cost him so much to say so. Roger smiled, as gentle as a saint. </p><p>Instead, he brought Trevor to the point of coming before he stepped away and seemed to recover himself. He stood straight and looked over Trevor, sweating, distressed and achingly hard, with a critical frown. </p><p>“I think you need a little time to contemplate what you’ve done and what you need to do. I’ll see you, Honeycutt.”</p><p>Roger took the lamp and the crumpled letter with him, leaving Trevor in the dark. </p><p>*</p><p>A night passed and then the morning. Trevor was almost free of his bonds when the door to the stables creaked open. It was Abby, with a jug of water and a clean towel. They didn’t speak as Trevor cleaned off the blood and sweat from his face. As soon as the ropes had given out, he’d collapsed on the ground, and that was where he stayed. </p><p>She looked at him curiously, and he did the same. </p><p>“Why did you come here?” he asked, finally.</p><p>She shrugged. “It’s boring at home. There’s nothing to do but gossip and shop and please Daddy. I know I can do more than that. I’ve always known that.”</p><p>“So you want to farm and fuck and please Roger instead?” </p><p>Abby slapped him hard across the face. She squatted down and looked at him, a pleasant smile still on her face. “Roger still wants that big cock up his ass. That’s why he won’t hurt you. But not me. I don’t want you, Trevor. You don’t mean a thing to me.” </p><p>She stood up and asked him, sweetly, “Now. Are you going to be a good boy?”</p><p>“Yes,” Trevor said, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “I will.” </p><p>*</p><p>It went downhill from there. </p><p>Trevor stopped trying to get his letters to Noah. What did it matter, anyway? He would never see the results, and besides, he had nothing to return to in the city. He only had this place and these people. </p><p>Even so, people acted differently towards him after that. He was the group pariah, the outsider once again. The only people who remained friendly to him were Carl and Lyndie — and Roger. At Roger’s especially friendly insistence, Trevor gave up his cell-like bedroom downstairs and stayed with him. </p><p>“Keep your enemies close, huh?” Trevor remarked as he brought his suitcase upstairs. Roger was watching him, arms crossed. Roger didn’t say anything, only looked at him. </p><p>“What do you want from me?” Trevor asked, finally. </p><p>“You already know,” Roger replied. </p><p>And though Trevor would’ve rolled his eyes in the past at anything that cast himself as the Judas to Roger’s Jesus, he didn’t have the heart to do it now.</p><p>*</p><p>They started sleeping together regularly. Roger showed more of himself when he was naked and satisfied, and it was easy to see that something had been knocked loose in him. </p><p>One night, he shook Trevor awake and demanded that he get up and follow him outside. Trevor refused — it was autumn now, and it got cold in the mountains. But Roger insisted, and at last they walked out into a field of frosted grass.</p><p>Roger, with an Indian blanket wrapped around him, told Trevor sharply to stop. Trevor looked around but didn’t see anything. It was still mostly night, though the horizon was gradually turning red and orange in the East. </p><p>Finally, Roger asked, “If I asked you to kill someone, would you do it?” </p><p>Trevor was quiet.</p><p>“It would have to depend on the reason,” he said at last.</p><p>“The reason would be that I told you,” Roger said sharply.</p><p>“Then no,” Trevor replied. </p><p>Roger smiled — it was more of a grimace than a smile, but his mouth was pulled up at the corners. “Why, <em>why</em>, I ask myself, why do I care about your opinions so much? Who the fuck are you?”</p><p>“I’m nobody,” Trevor said. </p><p>Roger lurched towards him and Trevor thought he was going to be hit, but instead Roger wrapped his arms around him. </p><p>“You’re a fucker,” Roger said. “But I trust you. I love you. And I know you love me, or else you’d have bailed a long time ago.”</p><p>Trevor sighed and draped the blanket more tightly around Roger’s shoulders. There was something tender in the way he felt about Roger, as reluctant as Trevor was to admit it. No one had ever said they loved him before — or at least, that Trevor believed. Something warm and bright burned in him, and that was as addicting as any drug. </p><p>“We’re both stupid, then,” Trevor said as he led Roger back into the house. “But that’s all right for now.” </p><p>*</p><p>Roger got sick after that. Carl said that they’d need to bring him into the city to get him the proper treatment, but Roger wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, he insisted on them all staying at the ranch. No one was to leave. There was a session every day, even when Roger could barely stand. </p><p>Everyone did what he said. It was Roger. Whatever he said, they did. </p><p>Except Abby. No one knew exactly what did it, but one day in the middle of a particularly grueling and sickening session, she stood up and called Roger out. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Roger said with genuine confusion. “You’re interrupting. Trevor, stop her.” </p><p>Trevor stood but Abby glared at him. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking, Roger. You can’t handle this anymore. You need to let Carl take care of you. You can’t keep us here anymore. Lori hasn’t seen her kid in weeks. Natalie lost her job. What are you doing? Do you think we’re your puppets?” </p><p>
“You’re being disloyal,” Roger spat out. “If you want to go so bad, then leave. But you won’t, will you, Abby? Not until you’ve gotten what you wanted.” </p><p>“We’ve decided,” Abby said loudly. “Trevor is going to take you to Redding. You need help.” </p><p>Roger swung around and stared at Trevor in shock. “You too?” he asked. </p><p>“Roger, listen to me,” Trevor began to say, but Roger fell to the ground. Trevor and Carl were able to bundle him up and take him to the car. He came to shortly as they were driving down the mountain. The atmosphere  was white-edged with tension. Roger took a hatchet to all of their vulnerable parts. </p><p>But at last they got to a hospital, and Roger was admitted and given treatment. Trevor called Abby after the hospital doors closed behind Roger, and after asking a few questions, she let him go. </p><p>Roger was back a week later, and he and Abby were now fully at odds. Roger wanted things to stay the same. He was desperate for it. He seemed to wrap the remnants of his sickness around himself, as if it was proof against criticism. He attacked Abby on every front — on her loyalty, her competence, her adherence to the cult’s vision. </p><p>But the thing was that Abby was winning, no matter what Roger did. Abby had a vision for what would happen now, which went beyond Roger, beyond what they had already. The land was enough to support a sizable herd of cattle. She had connections that she could exploit in that angle, and she believed that soon enough, there would be a demand for such things as organic dairy. It was just on the horizon, she said. They were in the perfect position to take advantage of it.   </p><p>Roger wouldn’t hear of it. </p><p>The lines were drawn thus, and people fell into two rival camps. Abby’s group was larger — Mike had become something of her lieutenant. Roger was weakened and seemed to want to fight less and less. The atmosphere in the ranch had changed — everything was less fun, more tense. </p><p>He still hadn’t forgiven Trevor for siding with Abby about his illness. They’d argued about it often enough after Roger had come back; Trevor believed Roger when he said that he’d never forgive any of them. </p><p>But things bumped along — until the arrival of Alex Dresden. Trevor had never expected to see his old college friend again, but there she was, bubbly and pretty, hanging out with Abby and Natalie at dinner.</p><p>“Alex — what a surprise,” Trevor said, biting off a stronger exclamation. “Long time no see.”</p><p>“Heya, Trev,” said Alex cheerfully. “I ran into Abby this afternoon and she invited me over for dinner.” </p><p>“That’s — interesting. You know that was a three-hour drive,” Trevor said. </p><p>“We had a great time,” Abby said brightly. “Alex hasn’t even met Roger yet.”</p><p>Trevor took his spot at the dinner table and looked at Abby. “Roger’s still feeling under the weather. He might not come down.” </p><p>Abby’s smile began to look a little fixed. “He’ll be fine. Mike can go get him.” </p><p>“I don’t mind,” Alex said, with a trace of nervousness.</p><p>“No, sweetie, I want you to see what a session is like. We can’t get that without Roger. Mike, get him.” </p><p>Mike scrambled up from his seat and left. The rest of them ate in silence. Trevor met Carl’s gaze and then Lyndie’s. They both looked troubled— neither of them was part of Abby’s splinter group. </p><p>When Roger came, he looked like a mess. Trevor knew that Roger used drugs — they all did — but Roger was usually able to keep it together. But after his hospital stay, he was falling apart more and more. Trevor glanced at Abby, who was watching curiously. </p><p>Trevor stood to steady Roger, who rebuffed him. </p><p>“Why are you pretending to give a shit about me?” he muttered, pushing Trevor away. </p><p>“I’m not doing anything,” Roger announced. “Fuck this. You all don’t deserve what I’ve been giving you.” </p><p>Trevor swallowed his fury and glared at Roger, unable to respond. </p><p>“That’s all you have to offer,” Abby said coldly. “If you can’t do it, then you’re yesterday’s news.” </p><p>“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Roger sneered. “God, I wish I’d never brought you here.” He turned around and glared at all of them. “Any of you. You’ve all disappointed me. You’ve all betrayed me.” </p><p>Trevor couldn’t deal with any of this. He noticed Alex slip away, and followed her outside, even as Roger and Abby continued to argue. </p><p>“Alex!” he shouted as soon as they were alone, at the side of the stables. Alex looked startled; there was a pack of cigarettes in her hand. “Why the hell did you come here?” Trevor demanded. “Didn’t you read the messages I sent to your dad?”</p><p>“You<em> said </em>they were harmless,” Alex pointed out. She jerked up her head, her curly black hair swiped by the wind. “There was a lot of interest in the piece, but you didn’t send any more. Dad wants to publish.”</p><p>“And does he want you to be here?” Trevor demanded. “I don’t believe that.” </p><p>Alex scowled at him. “Don’t try to act all parental on me now, Honey. You don’t give a shit about what my dad thinks.” </p><p>“That doesn’t matter. You’re not staying here,” Trevor insisted. “I’m going to drive you to the nearest town and you’re going to call your dad —”</p><p>“Oh, come<em> on</em>, Trevor,” Alex protested. But she was interrupted by a sound behind them. It was Carl and Lyndie, who approached them carefully. </p><p>“If you guys are leaving, we want to go too,” said Lyndie. She exchanged glances with Carl, who put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ve talked about it for a while. It doesn’t feel right to be here anymore. Roger’s gone off the deep end and Abby — ”</p><p>“I’m not working for Abby,” Carl said flatly. </p><p>Trevor nodded slowly. This was a big change. Carl and Lyndie had been here the longest out of everyone but Roger himself. If they wanted to get out, things really were getting bad. </p><p>“Okay,” Trevor said. “Okay. Alex, if it’s a story you want, Carl and Lyndie here can tell it to you when we go. That should satisfy Noah for a bit. We’ll go back to the city —” </p><p>“Portland,” Alex said firmly. “I’m staying with my aunt. Trevor, seriously.” </p><p>“I’d rather be in Portland than here,” said Carl. “Will you take us, Trevor?”</p><p>“Fuck,” Trevor said. He pushed his hair out of his face. “Fine. If anyone else wants to go to Portland, let them know. We’re going as soon as the snow lets up.”</p><p>“I need to get my things,” Lyndie said suddenly. “We need a little more time.” </p><p>“All right. Carl and I will go to the session and make some time. We’ll meet afterwards when everyone’s too fucked to do anything about it.”</p><p>“Do you think Abby would try to stop us?” Carl asked. </p><p>Trevor thought about the things he’d seen Abby do. Her coldness and composure in the stables that night. Her sudden decision to send Roger to the hospital. How easy it was to just obey her. She was capable of more than anyone suspected. But he didn’t think she would care if they wanted to leave. Only if Roger did. </p><p>“No,” Trevor said. “Anyway, it wouldn’t come to that.” </p><p>Inside, Roger and Abby were still screaming at each other. The rest of the cult was in a circle, but neither Roger nor Abby seemed willing to back down. They didn’t notice Trevor or the others coming in, or the whispering that spread through the circle. There were other people who wanted to get out, but no one actually took Trevor up on the offer. Either they were too scared or too paralyzed with indecision.</p><p> Lyndie and Alex snuck away to pack the car. </p><p>“Admit it, you just want to keep people here to be your personal fucking harem,” Abby spat out at Roger, who sneered at her. </p><p>“Isn’t that what you all agreed to? But I guess you want to expand and buy everyone up. You are your father’s daughter, after all,” Roger said. He was the one who noticed the movement toward the door. He stopped shouting and said flatly, “Where are you going?” </p><p>He was looking at Trevor. Trevor felt his energy spike. “I’m leaving, Roger. And I’ll take anyone who wants to go with me.” </p><p>“Fuck you,” Roger said, his face twisting. “I knew you’d do this. Fuck you, Trevor.” </p><p>“Anyone who leaves now won’t be able to come back,” Abby announced. She looked at Trevor directly, injecting her words with subtle menace. “There’s no second chances here.” </p><p>“You could come with me,” Trevor said to Roger, who leaned against him for a moment. In that tiny gesture, it seemed like Roger would be able to relent. But then he stepped back and scoffed, and said no. </p><p>Even so, it didn’t stop him from going outside to watch them pack up the truck with luggage. He was still standing there as the truck pulled away. </p><p>There was something desolate about Roger standing there in the blowing snow. Trevor thought the sight of it would haunt him forever. </p><p>*</p><p>The drive to Portland from the ranch would’ve been a long and difficult one even on a perfect summer day, but now it was winter and the snow was piling up behind them. It hadn’t been the smartest thing to leave just as a storm was blowing in, but luck was with them. Even as the old truck huffed and wheezed up and down the mountains, it didn’t stop and they didn’t slip off the edge. </p><p>Inside the truck, the atmosphere was muted. Carl and Lyndie filled the time by explaining the formation of the cult — Carl had gone to school with Roger, and could mark the beginning of the latter’s charismatic power — then Lyndie had drifted in, and then came Abby, and finally Trevor. </p><p>“Abby wants to put the cult to work, I think,” Lyndie said with a yawn. “She’s been looking to get into organic dairy, and with all that free labor — why not?” </p><p>“The Threpwoods have a lot of agricultural ties; it makes sense,” Alex muttered, writing down the details. </p><p>Trevor ignored the conversation and concentrated on driving. The radio came in short and random bursts through the mountains, with the music — usually country-western — sounding loud and distorted. </p><p>“What are you guys going to do now?” Alex asked them. Lyndie and Carl exchanged glances. </p><p>“Well, after the baby’s born, we’re hoping to open a restaurant,” Lyndie admitted shyly. Alex cooed over that and Trevor focused on the road. That was more reason than ever for him not to fail and get them all killed. </p><p>*</p><p>Through the mountains and the snow, and thick, dark forests, they came, finally, to Portland. It was almost seven o’clock when they got to Alex’s aunt’s house, but Trevor hadn’t stopped at all, except for a bathroom break outside of Eugene. </p><p>Poppy Dresden didn’t seem as surprised as she probably ought to have been to receive four exhausted people in her small bungalow, but Trevor was probably too tired to notice if she had been. He took a shower and fell asleep on the floor of Alex’s bedroom for almost ten hours. </p><p>When he woke again, his head was clear for what felt like the first time in a long while. He made a call to the <em>Sun-Courier </em>office, and to his surprise, Noah picked up on the first ring. </p><p>“She didn’t go to Pasadena, did she?” </p><p>“Alex is in Portland, at Poppy’s house,” Trevor said. “She’s fine. There’s a story in it, if that’s what concerns you.” </p><p>“Of course that’s not what I care about,” Noah snapped. “Now, when are you going to come down and see me?” </p><p>“I’m going back to the ranch,” Trevor said, twisting the telephone cord around his fingers. “It might be some time before I come back.” </p><p>“You shouldn’t go back,” Noah said. “If my opinion means anything to you, you absolutely shouldn’t go back.” </p><p>“I know,” Trevor replied. “I, uh, just wanted to say goodbye. Thanks for the opportunities, you know? Sorry I wasn’t the best employee. I did enjoy it.” </p><p>“You’re breaking my heart, Honey,” Noah replied. His voice sounded different than usual; it had taken on the quality of a tragedy. Even so, they exchanged goodbyes and Trevor got off the line.</p><p> He left a note for Alex and her aunt and got back into the truck. The trip back to the ranch seemed quicker than it had before. This time, there were no distractions. Just the vastness of the sky and the forest, and him, small and insignificant, fighting his way through it. </p><p>Like his first time coming there, it was gloaming dark when he reached the ranch. To his shock, he found it completely empty. The house that he had only seen full of people and laughter — or anger, later on — was dark. There was no sound but the ticking of the clock. In Roger’s room, everything was a mess — the telephone line was cut, and there were papers scattered on the floor. </p><p>More and more, Trevor thought how much of a mistake it had been to come back here. He didn’t know where Abby or Roger had gone, and he should have been content with that. It was fully dark when he left the house and started up his car. </p><p>It had started to snow again, and as Trevor made his way carefully up the hill, his eyes were falling shut from tiredness. He wondered where the hell he was supposed to go. He had no home anymore. He had nothing. </p><p>As he thought of this, something moved in the corner of his eye. Something white and red, shambling across the road. Trevor nearly hit it as he slammed on the brakes. Even in the snow and in the dark, he would have recognized those eyes that stared at him through the glass of the windshield. Roger always had such beautiful eyes. </p><p>Trevor nearly fell out of the car in his haste to get out and grab Roger. Roger wrapped his arms around Trevor as soon as he reached him. He looked disbelieving, as if he couldn’t trust anything that was in front of him. His clothes were ragged and torn, as were his fingertips. </p><p>“What the fuck happened to you?” Trevor asked, horrified. </p><p>“Mike shot me,” Roger said as Trevor tried — carefully — to bring him over to the passenger side. “He missed. Dumb fuck. Threw me in one of those mine shafts. It took me so long to get out.” </p><p>“He didn’t miss,” Trevor said. His mind was going a million miles a minute. Roger wouldn’t make it if he tried to drive to the nearest town. That was hours away. Their best bet was to go back to the ranch and try to stop the bleeding. </p><p>“I can’t —” Roger began to say. He blinked, as if he was trying to concentrate. He was fading fast — it was as if his determination to live had suddenly dissipated, as soon as Trevor had arrived. His voice began to go in and out. “I can’t believe you came back for me. People never come back.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Trevor agreed. “Well, you know I’m stupid.” </p><p>Roger began to laugh. That only made him bleed out quicker. Trevor hushed him.</p><p>Roger reached out and tugged Trevor’s jacket insistently, waiting for something. He said, halting, “I learned something. Ask me what.” </p><p>“What is it?” Trevor asked finally. </p><p>“Empathy’s hard,” Roger said, grinning. “It’s so fucking hard.” </p><p>“I know,” Trevor said. “Hey, don’t fall asleep — or else I’ll throw you back in the mine shaft.”</p><p>Roger cackled as the truck barreled down the road. </p><p>*</p><p>Inside the old kitchen, with Lyndie’s sewing kit scattered around them and a pot of boiling water nearby, Roger jerked awake on the kitchen table. He looked down at Trevor’s handiwork across his stomach and muttered a snide comment about Trevor’s stitching.</p><p>The cat, attracted by the sound of their voices, came up and began to sniff around Roger’s wounds. Trevor shooed her away but Roger said, loudly, “I can’t believe they didn’t take the cat. I can’t believe <em>you </em>didn’t. Assholes.”  </p><p>“Shut up,” Trevor said sharply. Then, relenting, he said, “You need to keep your strength.” </p><p>There was a pounding at the door. Trevor started. Was it Abby and Mike, coming back to finish the job? But why would they make their presence known like that? It wasn’t as if they didn’t have a key to get in. </p><p>“Don’t open it,” Roger muttered, closing his eyes. “I want us to die together. Wouldn’t it be romantic? I’ll finish you off if you’re squeamish…” </p><p>Trevor ignored him and went to open the door. It was the police, here to serve a warrant for Roger’s arrest. They seemed to be looking for Abby and Mike too. Trevor told them that they needed to call for backup, that Roger needed to be airlifted to the city, if they wanted to have their arrest stick. </p><p>Then he was pushed aside, and he let himself be. Everything was far out of his control. He could only watch and see wherever it took him. </p><p>*</p><p>In the end, there was no justice. Roger survived his gunshot wound, but only Mike was prosecuted for it. Abby went back to her family, protected by their money and privilege. And Roger himself was found guilty of several crimes, mostly financial. In prison, he found Jesus and capitalism in equal measure. </p><p>Trevor got dinged for draft dodging. </p><p>It was two years before he was a free man again, walking down a sidewalk in Portland. It was spring and the doors and windows of the houses were open. Over the radio, Trevor heard a familiar voice, talking about empathy and all the things that were hard to believe and even more difficult to disprove. </p><p>Trevor rolled his eyes and kept walking. He’d already gone down that road before. </p>
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